


Frustration

by TooManyChoices



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Frustrated John, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sort-of-virgin Sherlock, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-01-12 17:54:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1194240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooManyChoices/pseuds/TooManyChoices
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson is not getting what he needs and Sherlock is being clueless. After yet another adrenaline filled night, a misplaced word may move things along</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Frustration

John Watson is frustrated.

He's had a shit of a day, a shit of a week, the last case they'd solved was a shit, Anderson had been a shit _nothing new there_ , the weather was shit and when they'd finally cornered the odd woman with the deranged plan to poison the water supply, it had all...gone to shit.

And now, back at Baker Street, which was supposed to be John's home and haven, Sherlock Holmes, world's only consulting detective was...being a total...shit.

 _How the hell can he be so damned cheerful?_ John is sitting on a kitchen chair he'd dragged into the bathroom, Sherlock perched on the edge of the bath, hand outstretched and upturned as John picks pieces of glass and slivers of wood embedded in the long fingers and palm, following with an application of antiseptic. It twists something inside John to see those beautiful hands reduced to a patchwork of cuts and scratches and he wonders how scar tissue may impact Sherlock's ability to play the violin.

"Sherlock, sit still" John holds the hand more firmly as Sherlock gestures gleefully with the other, caught up in reliving the detail of the capture.

"Did you see her John, when she knew we had her? Did you see the moment of recognition, when she knew we'd beaten her?"

"Yes Sherlock, I saw it. Now sit...still!" John tugs at a shard, perhaps slightly more roughly than needed, to grab Sherlock's elusive attention, "Some of these are deep and I don't want to hurt you." _Although maybe some pain might teach you not to take such stupid risks._

Sherlock's hand stills and his eyes swing to focus on John, bent in concentration over his hand, "Yes, right. You're right of course." The hands cease their expressive dance; the feet however, continue their percussive tapping on the tiles.

 _God, he's so buzzed with adrenaline at the moment... It's going to be a very long night...again._ All John wants to do is tend to his own injuries, grab a hot shower and crawl into bed, but he'd learned the hard way that if he didn't get Sherlock sorted the mad git would simply divert himself with whatever captured his fancy and whatever injuries would be forgotten in the path of discovery. He remembers once spending several hours cleaning the kitchen after Sherlock had managed to smear virtually every surface with bloody hand prints after John had stupidly chosen to change out of sodden clothes before tending to his wounded flatmate.

John changes to tend to the other hand, Sherlock gazes at the one John's released, mentally cataloging the number and position of new markings as if memorising a street map. There's a pause in the frenetic activity as Sherlock files away the scrap of information somewhere in his cavernous brain.

It's not that John doesn't enjoy what he does, running around after Sherlock, solving crimes and being brought to a thundering, open mouthed halt at the brilliance of Sherlock's deductions but it isn't….enough. Endless months running, living, working beside this incredible man have begun to mess with his head. The domesticity of Baker Street and a string of disastrous short term relationships continue to cycle back to an inescapable conclusion _I fancy my flatmate._ Sherlock hasn't helped the situation by being a complex conundrum of questionable glances, casual nudity in the flat and blatant innuendo that is never followed up with action.

His life has begun to feel like the wrong type of carnival ride, with the right music and gaudy lights, but missing some undefinable spark that would end the ride in a breathless, sweat drenched sense of completion. _And I'm afraid to change rides in case I'm thrown out of the park._

John switches hands again, putting down the tweezers and picking up the antiseptic. The methodical routine of John's actions have settled Sherlock somewhat and the detective is now quietly watching as John turns and dabs and flexes fingers one at a time to ensure mobility hasn't been compromised. John can feel Sherlock's gaze, unwavering and analytical and wonders not for the first time how the two of them ended up with their paths intersecting in this small flat on Baker Street.

Ministrations complete, John releases Sherlock's hand, aware again of the odd sadness that always follows the loss of contact. He sighs deeply and looks up to catch the intent gaze of the man opposite.

"There you go Sherlock, good as new."

"Thank you John. As always, your skill is exemplary."

John's tired and his first thought is to brush the compliment off, but he knows Sherlock is trying. He's not oblivious enough to think Sherlock hasn't detected John's rising level of frustration over the past weeks. He's been increasingly cranky, and Sherlock has been getting the worst of it. The taller man may be a genius but he isn't psychic and he's doing his best given limited information.

"Thanks….Thanks Sherlock. I'm going to take a shower. Why don't you play for a while, your violin calms you down." _Rather than wreck the kitchen._

"John…"

The bathroom is quiet, the simplicity of tiles and porcelain reducing the complexity of Baker Street to shades of white and beige.

"John…" Sherlock tries again. This time, John raises his head to look into troubled eyes.

"What's wrong John?" The deep baritone is gentle and questioning.

"Nothing." John doesn't want to get into this tonight or perhaps ever.

"It's not 'nothing'. It's been 'not nothing' for several weeks now and I don't understand why you won't explain it. I find it quite frustrating."

_Quite frustrating? How does he do that? Speak whatever is on his mind without reservation? Isn't he afraid of repercussions? Perhaps I could learn something from him on this topic._

"You won't want to hear it." John begins.

"I've asked, so you may assume that I do."

John pauses, looks to the ceiling as if searching for divine inspiration, closes his eyes and sighs. Sometimes, the only way to win a battle is to sacrifice some ground.

"Sherlock, are you happy?"

Sherlock looks somewhat taken aback, then thoughtful, considering the question fully, "Yes. We've removed another threat from London's streets, you've treated my hands and the experiments in the fridge should produce some meaningful data by the morning. Yes John, I can say that I am currently happy."

"I'm not Sherlock. I'm…." John realises that for the first time, the simple statement is the truth, "… not happy"

The expression on Sherlock's face is one that John's never seen before, ever! There is a mix of shock, despair, panic and desperation, all crowded and fighting for balance and if John ever thought Sherlock emotionless or uncaring, the suspicion had been wiped away in a single blink. If John wasn't staring fixedly, he may have missed it as the look appeared and vanished in a heartbeat but it had been there _So help me…it WAS there._

Sherlock clears his throat roughly and with a carefully neutral tone inquires, "Why?"

Everything has changed. Everything. With that one look, John's carefully considered speech about sharing a flat and yet needing to maintain some semblance of individuality falls away. His planned script about needing to find a relationship, a 'partner' outside Baker Street evaporates. His hesitant intention to bare his soul and explain that, well…he had NEEDS and running around with Sherlock in the dark wasn't getting those needs met disappears like smoke.

Instead, John takes a deep breath and attempts to write a new future, a future that includes a tall, wild haired, insane but brilliant detective. He knows it's a risk, he knows that in all likelihood this will doom what they have and yet, and yet… _I damned well SAW it. I saw that look._

John searches for words, the right words. The words that will inform but not alarm. Words that will offer opportunities yet not close off options. Words that will articulately explain that while this life that they're living is the best damn thing he's ever had he knows, he absolutely fucking KNOWS that it could be so much better.

However, what comes out of his mouth is, "Quite often, I dream of shagging you."... _Bollocks_


	2. Confusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After John's unexpected revelation, Sherlock pushes for clarity and admissions of desire are unearthed.

…..What comes out of John's mouth is, "Quite often, I dream of shagging you."… _Bollocks_

Sherlock has the grace to look briefly shocked, but transitions quickly into something closer to appraisingly interested.

John wants to crawl into the closest hole. He believes he's seen one being dug down the road in Baker Street that will do nicely for the moment, before possibly going online to find something further away…..Portugal perhaps. He scrabbles inside his own head for something, anything at all to give another meaning to the words, an alternate to the brutal simplicity of his statement. _No…nope…nothing…perhaps…no…maybe….not that either…BOLLOCKS!_

He feels not unlike a rat caught in a trap, a rather ostentatious trap. He pictures large neon signs placed around the trap saying 'Come and see…..this'll be worth a laugh'. The silence in the room has taken on the consistency of treacle. No, on second thoughts more like candy floss. The kind that looked utterly delicious to begin with but ends up beginning to dissolve on your fingers, stuck to your face and in your hair, and rubbed into your jeans. The elusive sweetness gone and all that remains is…sticky and with a thin layer of grime.

And like an insect drawn to the unexpected sugar, Sherlock's voice adds to the mess by saying, "Really…and by quite often, you mean more often than you'd like to dream of shagging me?"

_Oh God._

"Look Sherlock, forget I said it. Just delete it, you can do that…delete it….Can't you?" John trails off hopelessly, adrift and mentally covered in grimy candy floss.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, considering then slowly shakes his head, "No. I don't think we're going to do that. This is far too interesting to simply delete."

 _Oh…God._ Sometimes like just about now John comes perilously close to hating Sherlock. The same clarity of vision, ruthless analysis and blinding insight that leaves him quivering with awe can just as easily cut, leaving a battered and carved up corpse to bleed out on the road. It wasn't that Sherlock was ever intentionally hurtful, it was simply that he took the shortest and most direct path to the information he needed. Deducing outcomes and leaving carnage in the wake of the long legs and Belstaff coat was an unfortunate byproduct of the headlong rush toward truth.

"Please?"

"Would it make you happy, John?"

"Yes! Very happy."

The eyes narrowed again, "And yet….you say you're not happy. Not happy because….you dream of shagging me…..quite often."

"OK, will you stop saying that…please."

"I'm simply ensuring that I've correctly understood the source of your unhappiness. Is it the frequency? If so, is the desired number higher or lower than you're currently experiencing? Is it the subject matter? Would you prefer to be dreaming of shagging someone else? Is it…."

"For God's sake Sherlock! PLEASE shut it." John scrubbed his hands across his face, at this point not really sure whether it was an unconscious attempt to hide his face, or wipe the look of horror from it.

"…that you're shagging me…and you'd rather the dream be of me shagging you." Having finished the line of thought, Sherlock acceded to John's request and stops talking.

_Kill me now_

"Look, Sherlock. I didn't mean it." _I did, he knows I did_

"Wrong!"

 _Try again_ "OK….I didn't mean to say it!"

"Better, and yet you did"

_I did, didn't I?_

"But...oh hell." John trails off again, hopelessly mired in what he said, what he wanted to say, what he wants to ask, what Sherlock's asking, what he's NOT asking and what he wishes he didn't even want to ask. "I'm getting a cup of tea, want one?"

"Yes please, and John..."

"Yes...Sherlock...what?" John is already escaping through the bathroom door.

"You realise you're simply applying avoidance techniques?"

"Yes Sherlock, I'm well aware"

Ten minutes later, John feels somewhat better, cradling a hot cup of tea between his hands, staring fascinated at the soft swirl of steam rising from the cup. He feels like it's taking the errant words with it, rising and dissipating in the cooler kitchen air. If Sherlock will just leave it alone...

"John...?"

 _Too much to ask I suppose. Invading Afghanistan was more fun than this._ "Yes Sherlock"

"Are we going to talk about this?"

"Is there any chance whatsoever of avoiding it?"

"No."

"Then I suppose we're going to talk about it."

"Now?"

"No Sherlock...in fifty years when we're both old, and senile and with any luck I won't remember having the conversation by breakfast time the following day. YES, now! We'll talk about it now."

Sherlock looks perturbed by John's outburst, as if he's given John an utterly unique gift only to have it put aside for a newspaper with the crossword already done. John can't entirely blame him, appropriate social behavior has never been Sherlock's greatest skill although he can fake it when required and John knows Sherlock values the honesty and openness that forms a cornerstone of their relationship.

"So..." Sherlock begins

"So..." _This is going well, can I leave now?_

"Would it help if I said that dreams are an unconscious manifestation of your mental coping skills, many of which will never be required during waking hours?"

"Do you think that why I'm dreaming of..." _No..I'm not going to say it again_

"Shagging me?" Sherlock adds.

John winces _There you go...thanks for that Sherlock, I'd forgotten that bit_

"No." Sherlock continue, "I doubt this is anything so complex."

"So what do you think it means?" _Don't say it...don't say it._

"I think it probably means you quite like the idea of shagging me" 

"Ah..." 

"So the real question is..." Sherlock leans forward on the kitchen table, so close that the steam from his John's cup has to alter its course around the face looming over him, "What's stopping you?"

John should have expected it, and yet the spray of tea that spurts from his mouth comes as a surprise to them both, creating a fine mist that coats the top of the table as well as Sherlock's face and hands.

Sherlock quietly wipes his hands on a dish towel as John tries to catch his breath, coughing to clear the liquid from his lungs. 

Sherlock grins, "Let's try a different approach shall we. Something less...explosive" 

John wordlessly nods

"What....if anything...do you want to do that will make you....happier?" 

_Now that's a good question. I can work with that_. John smiles, feeling something inside him start to relax. Sherlock fairly glows seeing John's favourable response, confident that he's managed to take a small yet positive step toward clarity. 

"Well..." John began, "I want..." _What DO I want? Perhaps this wasn't as easy a question as I thought_ "Maybe I should start with what I don't want."

"Whichever way will end with you happy again. Your happiness actually matters significantly more to me than I'd previously considered."

"Ok then, what I DON'T want is to make you unhappy. I don't want to stuff up what we have, which is the best damned thing I've ever had. I don't want to make you feel like you have to do anything you don't want. I don't want…."

"That's enough of a list John. Can we move this along, I'm growing bored."

"Yes, just wait Sherlock, this isn't easy."

Sherlock's frustration level is growing, John knows the symptoms well, the furrowed forehead, the thinning of that cupid's bow mouth, the skittish movements as he tries and fails to look patient. With a huff, Sherlock moves around behind John's chair, leans in over his shoulder and whispers in a voice that seemed to ooze directly from his pores, "Tell me what it is you WANT John."

The involuntary shudder and whimper that ripples through him should be mortifying, but John is beyond embarrassment now, and has moved to instinctive WANT which is probably Sherlock's ultimate goal, with the low growl with a hint of authoritative demand never fails to reduce John to a more primal state where acceptable social behaviour is held with the tips of trembling fingers. _I want…_

Sherlock moves his lips to the other side of John's head _He knows what this does to me_ and purrs again, "What….do you…NEED?"

"I need…."

"It's OK John," the silky voice caresses his ear, "You can ask…I WANT you to ask." He starts to plant light kisses along John's neck below his ear.

 _God help us both_ , "I want…." John's trembling now, a heady rush of adrenaline, denied lust, fear and hope. "I want…..you"

John feels Sherlock smile against his neck before the lips resume their gentle tasting of the skin there. "You already have me, I'm right here." The response is muffled; Sherlock's hair tickles John's cheek.

"I want…more" John whispers breathlessly, light headed and rapidly losing the ability to put cohesive sentences together.

"How much more?" Sherlock has now moved his hand up to play with the short hairs at John's nape and the feeling is exquisite, heady and John's sure nobody has ever touched that particular spot before.

"All of it….I NEED all of it, all of you, all of us." John thinks that's about the last sentence he's going to be able to put together for quite some time and he desperately hopes it will be enough. It comes out in a rush and he knows it sounds pathetic and needy and raw but it's honest and it's the truth.

Sherlock pauses, clearly considering John's response, and comparing it to his own desires _whatever they are.....and if they're something different then why the hell is he kissing my neck?_

After a pause that John thinks falls somewhere between five seconds and 'bloody forever' there's an intake of breath and the words "Then take it John, reach out and take it" seem to sidestep his ears completely and slip straight into his soul.

John's out of the chair in a heartbeat, turning as he rises and crowding Sherlock up against the kitchen bench behind them. The kiss is messy, and there's the click of teeth in John's haste to get closer, and somehow their noses seem to be getting in the way more than John's used to, and John's distantly aware that he's usually much better at this bit but can't seem to find time to care about that right now. There was also the pop of a button as he applies too much pressure to Sherlock's jacket while trying to get his hand inside and he wonders if Sherlock will be cross about that, but now his hand is fisting in the smooth cotton of his shirt and he wonders how many more buttons can be sacrificed in the need to get to more skin. John's other hand comes up to cup behind Sherlock's neck, pulling him down slightly because he's so damned tall and I'm not used to that but it's brilliant! And Sherlock is smiling, through the kisses and the popping buttons and the pushy John Watson who has latched onto him and that's brilliant too! And there's Sherlock's hands on him too, one around his waist, the other on his arse, holding him close and showing him that this was definitely the right answer and that's BEYOND brilliant!

John stops for a moment dragging in ragged breaths and leans his forehead on Sherlock's chest, noticing how nicely he seems to fit into the curve between Sherlock's chin and shoulder. He's sure there used to be more air in this room and he's still a little dizzy and he's pretty sure that if Sherlock took his hands away that he'd collapse on the floor in an undignified heap. But Sherlock's hands don't seem to be going anywhere, although the clutching and kneading going on in the buttock area certainly indicates there are places they'd like to be going.

Sherlock plants a gentle kiss somewhere above John's temple, and leaves his face there to nuzzle in John's hair for a moment, gently huffing while they both catch their breath. After the soul searching earlier, the quiet in the room seems companionable and comfortable and while John has things he feels ought to be said, right now it seems like everything that needs to be known has been covered.

Sherlock however has a loose end to tie up, "Happier?"

John grins against Sherlock's shirt, "Much"

"So am I."


	3. Force

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minor triggers for suggested non-con (all sorted out before the end). John's still off-balance and Sherlock's still trying his best to help.

"John?" Sherlock's querying tone raises John's attention from the newspaper.

After the alarmingly spontaneous make-out session in the kitchen three days ago, an odd sort of normality had returned to Baker Street. John doesn't know how to open the lines of communication to discuss what had happened, and there are times, in the dim solitude of his room that he wonders if it had been just a frenzied hallucination brought on by too many months with his own hand for company.

Lowering the paper John looks over the kitchen table, switching to the surreal mental space he needs to be in to accept and process Sherlock's usually bizarre questions and requests. He's quietly proud of the way he can now listen, consider and reply to most queries without sitting gaping in confusion at the taller man's insane mental connections.

 _Ok...hit me with it._ "Mmm?" John ventures.

"Did our kissing alleviate the dreams?"

 _So I'm not beyond gaping in confusion after all - good to know._ John freezes, mouth hanging open before slowly, and with a show of careful consideration, methodically folds the newspaper and places it on the table.

"I only ask because...you haven't mentioned it again." Sherlock continues.

John places his splayed fingers on the newspaper, idly smoothing the paper as he considers his response. While John had initially raised the subject of attraction, Sherlock's reaction indicated his feelings were certainly not unwelcome. Forcing John to express his desire had been both unexpected and confronting. It had also been astonishingly predatory, and Sherlock's seduction very different from any experience in John's past. _Make no mistake, it had been a conscious seduction by Sherlock_ He'd been virtually overwhelmed with carnal need.

"I"m trying to clarify the degree to which the experiment has addressed your concerns with regards to....."

_Experiment! God help me if that was just his idea of trying to resolve a troublesome issue._ John grits his teeth, "You're asking if after a thorough snog in the kitchen, I've changed my mind about wanting to strip you naked and plunder your arse?" 

"Yes...although I'm confident I could have found a less....pedestrian turn of phrase."

"No."

Sherlock frowns, clearly disappointed at the reply. _No, not disappointed, concerned_ "No?"

"No.... I still want you Sherlock. Shit, I probably always will." John shrugs in resignation, rising from the table to pace the kitchen restlessly. "But I stand by what I said, I won't screw up what we have chasing something you don't want. I'll.....deal with it." 

Saying the words hurt, and if he was truthful with himself, he wasn't sure he COULD deal with it. But John wasn't into one-sided relationships, and if that was what Sherlock was offering, then the answer was no. Not here, not with him.

"Why do you do this, John?"

"Do what?"

"Instead of fighting for what you want, you put all your energy into assuming and planning for the worst possible outcome. Surely that's counterproductive to the happiness you so eloquently stated you wanted. I thought you were a soldier."

John considers the view and answers as calmly as his rising anger allows, "But it isn't only about me Sherlock, and I won't just 'use you' and disregard what you want. Any more than you'd do that to me. So thanks for offering yourself as some sort of mobile sex toy but I'll....pass." 

The more John thinks about, the more he replays the scene from three days ago. Sherlock's hushed murmur of, "...then take it, John" rings in his head and he feels nauseous. Had he really done that, had he interpreted compliance as permission? 

"Stop it!" Sherlock raises his voice, seeing John's distress and stepping in to divert it. "John....stop it."

The tone snaps John's attention back to the detective.

"Let me start again John, because these types of conversations are new to me and I may have chosen my words poorly. If you are going to have a crisis, at least base it on facts."

John finds himself caught between anger and hope. Anger that Sherlock may be about to offer himself as a willing victim in a borderline abusive relationship, and a repulsive hope _Perhaps I want to let him_.

"John" Sherlock comes to stand in front of him, with the piercing stare he reserves for only the most serious of situations, and places firm hands on shoulders.

"Fact - you are unhappy." 

John nods mutely. 

"Fact - You understand that this knowledge distresses me greatly." 

Another nod, eyes locked. 

Sherlock nods slowly, mimicking the gesture and smiling faintly, "Fact - I would do virtually anything to...help you overcome your disress." 

John opens his mouth to reply, but Sherlock holds up a finger to stop him. 

Sherlock raises his voice slightly, "VIRTUALLY......John....virtually anything. Fact - Have you ever, in all the time you've known me...with every interaction...with anyone at all, known me to be a unwilling participant in anything I choose to do" Sherlock stares unflinchingly into his eyes, "EVER?" 

John shakes his head dumbly. Sherlock's logic inescapable. 

"Fact - Nobody is forcing me to do this John." Sherlock's eyes are intent, his bearing anything but unsure, "Nobody is coercing me. I'm neither victim....or puppet in this." Sherlock adds quietly as he drops his eyes as if uncomfortable with what tumbles from his lips next, "Why....just because you asked first, do you not think this is something I don't want as much as you?"

John stares at him, Sherlock's face now hidden beneath dark curls.

Barely more than a whisper, Sherlock adds, "I want you, John. I need this. I need you."

John stands in the quiet of the kitchen, so close that their syncopated breathing is loud in his ears. He can feel Sherlock's hands firm on his arms as if afraid that John will leave if he lifts the pressure. There is a twitch in Sherlock's jaw, and John thinks there is a tense look to him as if he's waiting to be struck, or perhaps berated for his honesty. The moment hangs as the truth penetrates like a searchlight through a break in the clouds. He lift a hand to brush a curl from Sherlock's forehead, so he can glance up and recapture those amazing eyes again.

"I'm an idiot, aren't I."

Sherlock mumbles, "Most people are, John." Then he looks up with a small and unsure smile, "sometimes...even me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The previous chapter has had a pretty big brush and polish to fix some cut and paste issues. Thanks to Mel for the edit.


	4. Exploration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now the cat's out of the bag, Sherlock and John begin taking the first tentative steps into anew relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has been on hiatus since March 2014, but an unexpected comment has inspired me to dust the boys off and then rub them together briskly. Let's see what happens.

An hour later finds the two of them as wrapped up in each other as they are in the blankets around them on the sofa. A DVD plays in the background, mostly forgotten. John had set it to play more to cover any awkward silences than any real intention of watching it.

The real mystery is far closer to his fingers, and as the stroke of a gentle fingertip down Sherlock's underarm gives rise to a smothered gasp and the rise of gooseflesh on said arm, John finds this new mystery more fascinating than any case the detective has tempted him with in over two years.

"How long has it been since you've been touched like this, Sherlock?" John whispers, rather liking the way that Sherlock bends toward him whenever he nuzzles his nose against his exposed neck.

Sherlock stills for only a moment while he does some rough maths, finally coming up with, "Years. Long enough that I'd deleted how much I enjoy it."

John chuckles as he nibbles at another piece of skin, and Sherlock hisses and arches to get closer, his hands kneading restlessly at John's waist. "Fancy making up for lost time?", John asks.

The rich baritone rumbles in the affirmative and John shivers as the vibration carries between Sherlock's chest and his own.

"Do that again?" John mumbles, leaning to wrap himself against every inch of skin he can reach.

"Do what?" Sherlock's voice is muffled against John's neck, where he's apparently taking John's pulse with his tongue.

"That rumble-thing with your voice...just..anything..hum or something." John hooks an ankle behind Sherlock's thigh, tugs him closer and waits impatiently.

There's a smothered laugh and then Sherlock obliges, apparently reciting the periodic table from the cadence of the syllables against his neck. Whatever the words are, the meaning is of far less importance to John than the effect. He can feel the low level rumble against his shoulder, where Sherlock's neck is pressed against it, down through his chest, stomach and, most delightfully, where their pricks are pressed together through the thin fabric of pyjamas. His own low moan joins the deep melody of the room. Sherlock's rhythmic recitation stutters and breaks, and when he lifts his head to look into John's eyes, he's chuckling and bright-eyed.

"Good?" Sherlock's redundant question is nevertheless welcome.

John pivots his hips, the answer quite clear to them both, "Oh yeah. But then, you must have been told that before."

He shrugs as best he can within the confines of John's arms, "I don't know, as I said....I deleted it."

John's brow furrows slightly, "So you really don't remember...anything?" John finds the idea rather erotic. That for all intents and purposes, John's his first partner."

"Oh, the muscle memory is all there, and it seems like... how can I put this..." He blushes slightly, "It doesn't appear that I'm going to be....bolting out of the gate..any time soon."

John snorts at the phrasing and then looks contrite, "Sorry, that wasn't good...shouldn't laugh at that..." he grins again and then adopts a dramatically serious face, "Yes...not, umm... going off half-cocked...that's...good."

Sherlock gives John a withering look, but there's nothing but fondness behind it, "Juvenile. Anyway...apart from things I appear to have retained subconsciously, the rest is...gone. I suppose I'm starting with a clean slate." His eyes sparkle, "This should be fascinating, if you're up for a bit of experimentation."

_Sexual experimenting with Sherlock Holmes.....Can life get any better?_


End file.
